Meet My Date
by MysteryGal5
Summary: Maxon and America bring each other home for the first time to meet their incredibly different families (High School AU) (Maxon x America)
1. It's Maxon

**This is a little birthday gift for me / from me and to all of you :)**

 **This idea came from the fact that my first thought while reading this series was "wtf are these names" but I have grown to love the names.**

 **Just a few notes: this will be a two-shot and it's a modern high-school AU**

* * *

Chapter One: It's Maxon

Romance in high school varies from one prrson to the next: there's puppy-lovers, high-school soulmates, the flame, and the annoying 'on-and-off' couple. This is the time where one is supposed to find out the true definition of love, whatever name it may go by.

Two names to remember are Maxon Schreave and America Singer. These two young high-schoolers who originated from completely different backgrounds yet somehow found their way into each other's arms. He was the son of the town's mayor and she was the daughter of an artist but at the end of the day, they had a passionate romance.

They just needed their families to know.

-o-

At the end of another gruelling school day, America makes her way through the hallway of her crowded high school. She stops right at her boyfriend, Maxon's, locker and at the _exact_ moment he closes the door, she greets him with a kiss. Taken by surprise (and a great one at that), Maxon holds America's waist and brings her closer to him. After another quick kiss, she rests her hands on his firm chest as she parts from him. For a moment, America almost forgets what she needed to tell him.

"I have great news," America says with a bright smile on her face.

"And what's that?" Maxon asks, quickly sneaking another kiss. She bites her lip for a second.

"My sister Kenna is coming to visit and she's bringing her husband James and their two kids. This is the first time she's visiting since her baby was born!"

Maxon smiles. "America, that's amazing!"

"You haven't even heard the best part." Her hands move up to his shoulders. "I'm inviting you over."

Maxon's eyes open wide and he suddenly finds himself with nothing to say. He doesn't have any problems with going over to America's house. It's meeting her parents and siblings for the first time which makes him anxious.

"I would love that," Maxon says, hiding his nerves from the girl he loves.

This is obviously important for her and for him as well.

-o-

Two days later, America paces around her front porch waiting for Maxon to arrive. Her parents and younger siblings are all inside, catching up with Kenna and her family. They wouldn't notice that she stepped out. She, on the other hand, waits impatiently for her boyfriend to get here. Finally, Maxon's car pulls into her driveway and she meets him where his car parks.

"Sorry, for being late," Maxon says, kissing the side of America's head. He looks down at his watch. "Actually, I'm right on time according to the time you originally told me to come at. Why have you been waiting as if I was an hour late?"

America doesn't respond. She throws her hands up with her shoulders in a shrug. Maxon laughs a little. America shakes her head as she grins.

"I just want to prepare you for my family," America says. "I love them to death but they can be quite..." She looks up as if to search for the right word. "...loud."

"Then we'll just give them this," Maxon says, holding up the fancy bottle of wine he brought for her family.

America's eyes pop out of her head as she touches the bottle with her fingertips.

-o-

The moment Maxon steps into America's house, his ears fill up with various pleasant sounds that range from running footsteps from children with their screams, light conversations between adults, and a baby who hesitates on whether or not to cry. This situation may bother or even annoy some people but Maxon finds it brand new and refreshing, relaxing almost. He comes from a quiet, pratically silent household so this different enviroment intrigues him.

"There's my niece, Astra," America says, pointing to a running child. "My brother, Gerad." A second running child who follows the first. "And my sister, May."

America points at a girl who is practically a younger version of herself due to their strong resemblance. As May chases Gerad who chases Astra, America grabs her sister as she whizzes past them and holds her still by the shoulders.

"May," America introduces, tilting her sister's chin upwards towards Maxon. "Meet Maxon."

"Hello there," Maxon says, looking down towards the little girl with his best comforting smile.

May's mouth forms a small circle, her face radiating with an innocent awe. From her point of view, she's seeing the mayor's son in her house, right before her eyes.

"May..." America mutters, patting down on her sister's red curls to resurface her attention. "Don't you want to say something?"

"Are you Ames' prince?" May asks Maxon with a toothy grin.

"Prince?" Maxon questions, highly intrigued by this unexpected fairytale concept.

America looks up straight ahead into nothing, embarrassed to the point where her cheeks match her hair. Once upon a time she told May that Maxon was the equivalent to Prince Charming while she was decribing how wonderful he is. When America's eyes meet Maxon's, she sees him wiggling his eyebrows playfully to which she returns with the same blank expression she had seconds ago while looking at the wall. She tries to think of something to say that would save her from this situation but she grabs the wine bottle from Maxon's arms and scurries off.

"Mom!" America calls for. "Get the bottle opener, Maxon brought wine!"

That leaves Maxon alone with May. Still in joy from being called as America's prince, Maxon can't stop grinning. He looks back at May who continues to look up at him with so much curiosity, entranced at the idea that the mayor's son is her sister's prince. She takes his hand and leads him into the house, asking him more questions about his "royal life."

-o-

After what seemed like twenty-one thousand questions from May that varied from having a horse-drawn carriage, royal balls, and having a fairy godmother; America finally returns with a hint of alcohol on her breath but nothing too over-powering to make her vertigo. She needed something to get her through the evening she was already wishing to be over.

"Thank you for entertaining Maxon, May," America says, ruffling May's curls. "Now, go back to playing. I think Gerad and Astra are running outside."

May runs off. America takes a heavy breath as she runs her hands through her hair, combing any knots that may have formed when she was drinking her wine. Maxon snickers as he kisses the side of her head.

"Your sister is quite the character," Maxon whispers to America. "She asked me if I ever defeated a fire-breathing dragon."

America sighs. "Her head is a compilation of fairy tales. It's unreal."

"Well, not all of it's a fantasy. You are my princess."

"I am not _your_ princess, Maxon Schreave."

"But I am _your_ prince, America Singer?"

America opens her mouth to argue that point but not clever rebuttal comes to mind. She frowns.

"Shut up," she tells him.

"Not a chance, Princess America."

Maxin grins and America pushes his smirk away.

Out of the kitchen comes America's mom. She throws her red hair over her shoulders and smiles brightly as she approaches Maxon. She wipes her hands on her apron before extending a hand out towards him.

"Magda Singer," she introduces. Maxon shakes her hand warmly, adding his free one on top. "Nice to finally meet you in person. We have seen you a lot in the media with your parents. You're way more handsome in person."

"Mom!" America exclaims, feeling the embarrassment come back.

"What?" Magda questions innocently. "It's true. You can't deny that."

Maxon laughs a little. "You have a lovely home and family, Mrs. Singer."

"Well, I sure hope so." She laughs. "Wait until you meet my husband." She throws her head over her shoulder. "Shalom! Get over here!"

Maxon doesn't reply but wipes his suddenly clammy hands on his slacks. America shoots him a thumbs up, saying that everything will be fine. Maxon gives her a small nod. It's one thing for a boy to meet the siblings and the mother of his girlfriend but meeting the father is almost the equivalent of the prince facing the dragon - make one wrong move and you'll be burnt to a crisp.

Shalom enters the room, his eyes locking on Maxon. As America shuffles beside her father to escort him, Maxon gives a smile which he hopes isn't radiating off nervousness. Though Shalom seems observant of Maxon with slightly narrowed eyes, Maxon sees a glimpse of the same soft blue that also resides in America's eyes.

"Father," America starts, "meet my date."

"Right..." Shalom mutters, shaking Maxon's hand. "The mayor's son. America has mentioned you."

"All good things, I hope," Maxon says optimistically.

"Only great things." Shalom still eyes Maxon, increasing the young man's nerves even though he just said a positive sounding comment. "Now, was it Martin or Jackson?"

Maxon doesn't respond right away since neither of those options was his name. America puts two fingers on her temple in pure embarrassment (second time this night), steering her body back to the kitchen to search for that wine bottle. Shalom still waits for a response.

"It's Maxon, actually," Maxon corrects.

Shalom blinks. "Wasn't that one of the options?"

-o-

Kenna, America's older sister, sits on her couch beside Maxon while bouncing her little baby on her knee while singing some rhymes. Maxon can't help but smile at the baby's glee and the trail of drool dripping down its chin. All that changes when baby Leo's face starts to wrinkle and his laughs turn into cries.

"Oh!" Kenna exclaims, knowing that her diaper bag isn't with her at the moment.

"Would you like me to hold him while you get what you need?" Maxon offers.

Kenna looks at him hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"I insist."

Kenna gently passes her crying baby over to Maxon before getting up and running to the diaper bag across the room. Maxon stands up and rocks the baby on his two feet like a ship at sea. He attempts to sing the same rhymes back, despite his self-declared god-awful singing voice. Baby Leo stops crying and stares up at Maxon with a slobbery, toothless smile.

"Now, I know where Leo gets his drooling," Kenna mutters to America as she rummages through the diaper bag next to her. America shakes her head out of the daze she didn't know she was in and looks up at Kenna blankly. Kenna rolls her eyes playfully since her sister probably didn't hear a word she just said. "You're staring."

"Am not," America replies, wiping her wet chin with her sleeve.

"Deny it all you want but I can't blame you. Girls cannot resist men holding two things: small dogs and puppies. In the case that the man is holding a baby while sitting in a puppy pen then - _boom_ \- you're in heaven. I am willing to have a third kid just so I can watch James hold it."

"Down girl," America jokes with a snicker. Kenna laughs, nudging her sister.

Shalom approaches the girls and puts a hand on America's shoulder as Kenna runs back to Maxon and her son. America looks up at her father and he smiles warm-heartedly, giving her a slow and approving nod that she knows is about Maxon. America beams happiness, leaning into her father's arms.

"He's wonderful," Shalom whispers into her hair.

"He truly is," America replies, keeping her eyes on her date.

* * *

 **To be honest, this idea also came from that one line "Is it Martin or Jackson" which is similar to a line in Wizards of Waverly Place (and Gregg Sulkin is my image of Maxon Schreave even though he's a brunet and Maxon is a blond - don't hate me).**

 ** _Stay Tuned_ \- America's going to be meeting Maxon's parents.**


	2. It's America

**Thank you all so, so much for the birthday wishes!**

 **When I first planned this story, it was supposed to just be a one-shot called "It's Maxon" but then I realized that I can make it a two-shot since I can play around with America's name as well.**

* * *

Chapter Two: It's America

America sits in her classroom, minutes before it starts. She twirls a lock of her red hair and fiddles with her thumbs - basically anything that will cure her boredom and help the time go by faster. To her surprise (and a wonderful one at that), Maxon walks into her classroom. She's enlightened to see him and is only surprised because she and Maxon don't share this class. He slides into the vacant seat next to her.

"Morning, darling," Maxon greets, kissing her cheek.

"Good morning to you too," America replies. "What are you doing here?"

"My parents got back from Sweden a few days ago."

"I know. I watched it on _The Report_. What about it?"

"They finally got rid of their jet-lag. And seeing that I met your family and loved it, I think it's only fair that you meet mine."

America doesn't respond. She has nothing wrong with meeting Maxon's parents; in fact, if she was planning to stay with him for longer (which she was), then she would've ended up meeting them eventually. The only intimidating factor to consider was that Maxon's father was the town's mayor.

"Absolutely," America replies with a fraud confidence. She wasn't even sure if he asked her a question.

"Great!" Maxon exclaims.

As the bell rings signalling the start of class, Maxon gives America a quick kiss before making his way to his class. America heaves a deep breath as she slides deeper into her seat.

-o-

America walks along the cobblestone pathway that borders the gardens in front of Maxon's house. She stumbles in her heels and curses under her breath when she almost falls into the rose bushes. To think that she's already embarrassed herself and she hasn't even made it to the front door yet. Once she climbs up the front porch, she takes a breath before ringing the doorbell. As it chimes, America fixes her hair and dress, making sure that she looks as presentable as possible with the help of the window as a makeshit mirror. Forget meeting the mayor, she's meeting Maxon's _parents_. She knows that alongside Maxon's father's strategic and successful electoral campaign, it was because of his impeccable public image that he won the election by a landslide.

The door opens and America is faced with a butler who opens the door wider to let her in. She steps inside, greeted with the homely scent of cloves and silence so strong that she can hear her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

"Hello, Miss. Singer," the butler greets, "Mr. Schreave will be down shortly. May I take your coat?"

America gives a quick nod and the butler takes America's jacket. She gives him her thanks. As he goes to hang it up, she's now alone at the entrance of the house. She crosses her arms as she looks up at the high ceilings that have a chandelier that's currently making her cross-eyed the longer she looks at it.

She turns her head to the sound of footsteps coming down the grand spiral staircase. America smiles at the sight of Maxon. He lights up and embraces her the moment he approaches her.

"My dear," Maxon starts, keeping his arm around her waist. He leans in closer to her ear and whispers, "you look lovely."

America snickers a little. "Why thank you."

"I didn't know you owned this outfit."

"Oh..." America looks down at her knee-high, pastel blue dress, and white pumps that she matched with a navy blue blazer. "I borrowed all this and the blazer your butler just hung up from Marlee." She laughs nervously. "I didn't know how formal to dress so I went with business casual. I'm kind of scared I under-dressed."

"Thankfully, you didn't borrow a ballgown from Celeste."

America almost snorts a laugh which she's glad didn't really happen since it would've echoed throughout the whole house. What a first impression that would make.

"I wanted a _suitable_ dress," America tells him, "not a scandalous one."

Maxon doesn't respond with words but a cheeky grin. America knows that he would love to see her wearing either of those dresses, although she would prefer to be in her jeans. She puts a hand on his chest and pushes his cheek playfully with her free hand.

"Maxon," a different voice says.

Maxon breaks free from America and turns around to see his mother, Amberly Schreave, gracefully approaching them. He clears his throat as America stares at his mother. She was truly a woman of regal and order who still looked as loving as any mother would.

"Mother," Maxon starts, "this is America."

"Hello, Mrs. Schreave," America says, offering a hand.

Amberly gently shakes America's hand.

"You look beautiful, my dear," Amberly says to her. America notes to herself where Maxon gets that term of endearment from.

"Thank you," America replies, "you have a beautiful home."

"You haven't seen it all yet." Amberly chuckles a little. "Come, I'll show you around. Maxon, tell the chef to prepare some strawberry tarts."

"Strawberry tarts?" America questions with a salivating mouth. She loves strawberry tarts.

Maxon snickers to himself as he heads towards the kitchen and Amberly begins escorting America around the house.

-o-

It was moments like this where America wished she wore flats instead of heels since all this walking was starting to make her calves hurt. If Maxon's house wasn't so enchanting to look at (and to avoid being impolite), she would've asked to sit down a long time ago.

The house had an old-fashioned appeal with the dark wood furnishings and doors. The ceilings were high with dainty yet bold lights hanging, dimly lit since it was still bright outside. The walls were filled with large, framed portraits, some just of landscape yet most being of the family.

At that moment, it occurs to America that even if Maxon's father wasn't the mayor, they would still be well-off financially.

"With a name as geographical as yours," Amberly starts, "I would assume you have been somewhere overseas, yes?"

"No, actually," America responds a tad timidly.

Amberly gasps, bringing a shocked hand to her mouth. "You're lying."

"I wish I was."

"Surely, you have been _somewhere_."

"I haven't even left the province."

Amberly doesn't respond after that. America can't think of a way to continue the conversation from there. Thankfully, Maxon comes back with a tray full of fresh and glistening strawberry tarts. He offers America one and even if he didn't, that wouldn't have stopped her from taking one. In fact, she actually wants five but only takes one to be polite.

She takes a bite out of heaven: sour strawberries balanced with a sweet glaze, all sitting on a buttery and flaky crust.

"My sister would love these!" America exclaims, covering her half-filled mouth with her free hand.

"I'll see to it that our chef prepares some for you to take home to her," Amberly says, dismissing herself.

America grins at Maxon and he does the same back. Suddenly, his expression drops a bit. America turns and sees a man at the entrance of the room, eyeing her. She watches him slowly, quickly shaking her hands to be free of any mess from the tarts and checking her face as well.

This is Maxon's father, Mayor Clarkson Schreave. An older and bolder version of his son, dressed up in a sharp tuxedo minus the tie.

"Sorry, I'm late," Clarkson says. "I was in a very important conference call." His eyes meet America's even though he's talking to Maxon. "Who do we have here?"

He asks that only out of courtesy. He obviously already knows who she is.

"Father," Maxon starts, "meet my date."

"Ah, yes," Clarkson says, shaking America's hand. She can feel his strong grip on the point of breaking her arm off like a twig. "I remember Maxon mentioning you. You have a remarkable geographical name."

America smiles a little. "Thank you."

"Remind me again, was it Paris or Sofia?"

America's doesn't respond. She opens her mouth but isn't sure how to phrase the correction of her name. Clarkson just listed the wrong geographical places that were her name.

"It's America," she simply corrects.

Clarkson blinks. "Wasn't that one of the options?"

-o-

America notices that even though Maxon's family only consisted of him and his parents, the whole table would be set up for dinner. It was probably for the complete feeling it provides, even if the majority of the plates were empty and the cutlery untouched. They did often have people over for dinner so the seats were filled for most of the time.

A butler serves the food to them on a silver platter. When he lifts the cover, America sees a warm arugula salad with a balsamic vinaigrette and roasted vegetables - both of which looked delicious - but then she sees a full fish on her plate which freaks her out. She tries her best not to make an obvious reaction. She gags a little in her mouth, not used to having food with eyes on it.

"Have you ever had branzino, America?" Amberly asks.

"I have not..." America replies, wishing that answer would still be true in an hour. "But I'm open to trying it."

As a butler stops by to discuss wine choices with Maxon's parents, America nudges Maxon with her elbow.

"Maxon..." America mutters through her teeth. "My food is staring at me."

"Then don't blink or you'll lose the staring contest," Maxon replies.

Maxon snickers to himself as America glares at him.

-o-

Later in the evening, the strawberry tarts are out again on the coffee table. Amberly and America sit beside each other on the couch; Amberly showing her pictures of Maxon from an album as America tries not to get crumbs from the tart she's eating (since the pictures of Maxon as a child were so cute that they made her laugh). Maxon stands to the side with his arm resting on the ledge just above a fireplace and a glass of wine from dinner in his hand.

Maxon stares at his two women, laughing and smiling; basically enjoying each other's company. He feels a strong hand clap his shoulder lightly, startling him a bit but thankfully he didn't drop his glass on the carpet. It's only his father, holding a glass of his own as he watches Amberly and America.

"Father," Maxon starts.

"She is not what I expected," Clarkson says about America.

Maxon takes a steady breath, scared to ask this next question. "Do you approve?"

"I'm going to need more time." Clarkson sips his wine as Maxon nods. "Perhaps she would like to travel with us this upcoming summer."

Maxon looks at his father in shock. "Really?"

"Really." Clarkson smiles to himself a little. "Maybe we could visit Paris or Sofia."

-o-

Maxon Schreave and America Singer.

Two different names for two _extremely_ different people.

A romance like theirs shouldn't work but it ultimately did. Their romance didn't have a name since it didn't follow the aforementioned stereotypes; and frankly, if their fathers couldn't get their name of their child's significant other, did their romance really deserve a name?

* * *

 **Technically, their romance's name is Maxmerica.**

 **Ah! I can't believe I actually wrote this! I love it so much and would love to thank all of you for reading this, favoriting it and leaving reviews! If you want, you can leave me a story idea and I will see if I could write it as a separate OS or as a part of my OS compilation _Photos on the Wall_ (which you should go check out, by the way).**

 **Anyways, thank you!**

 **~ MysteryGal5**


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